


Burning Flowers

by tsundres



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: The First Avenger, M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 04:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14512992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsundres/pseuds/tsundres
Summary: Bucky’s laughing and Steve thinks this is how he should look every day, carefree and unspoiled by war. If none of this had ever happened, Bucky would probably be somewhere dancing right now.





	Burning Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during a Howling Commandos op, somewhere along the Danube River.

It’s morning; the sun is just beginning to rise and there’s barely any light in the sky, but what’s there is making the world appear gold and softened at the edges. There’s no noise aside from the whispering of leaves and the singing of birds, those not yet pushed out of their home by the sounds of war.

Steve is awake, not that he ever really sleeps anymore, making his way through the thick of the forest to the clearing by the edge of the cliff where he’ll take over watch from Bucky, before the rest of the Commandos stir. As Steve approaches, Bucky smiles at him from where he’s sitting up against a tree, pulling a cigarette away from his lips and exhaling slowly. In this light he looks so young, a few of strands of hair have fallen loose across his forehead and he’s removed his jacket so that his torso is covered only by his undershirt. For a moment Steve feels like he’s sixteen and they’re years in the past, in Steve’s cramped bathroom cleaning Bucky up after a fight.

“Heard you coming and went to put this out on instinct,” Bucky says as Steve comes to sit beside him, gesturing to his cigarette. “Guess I have to get used to you probably being able to smoke twelve packs and not feel a thing." 

“I do still have lungs, you know.” Steve shuffles closer to Bucky so that their shoulders and legs are touching, and reaches over to take the cigarette from between Bucky’s lips, taking a drag from it himself. Before it’s too late, Steve remembers he’s never actually smoked before and starts coughing, until he’s laughing, and Bucky’s laughing too and Steve thinks this is how he should look every day, carefree and unspoiled by war. If none of this had ever happened, Bucky would probably be somewhere dancing right now; Steve hasn’t seen him dance in so long, and even though he’s still smiling he suddenly feels sad. “Looks like we both have a lot to get used to,” he says, quieter than he had intended.

Bucky is looking at Steve, really looking at him, leaning forward and taking in his features like it’s the first time he’s seeing him properly since Stark's exhibition; a lifetime ago now. He doesn’t speak, or move, and Steve sees that his age has returned to his face; the day is beginning and he’s hardened again.

Steve realises he’s afraid that Bucky might never look at him this way again, so he brings a hand up to touch Bucky’s face, and Bucky lets him rest it there, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “I missed you,” Steve says, and Bucky sighs, leaning ever so slightly into the touch and closing his eyes.

They have a lot to talk about, but for now, this is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying so hard to write a fic that's just about how much Bucky loves to dance but it's so difficult for some reason, so I wrote this to make myself even sadder about how all Bucky ever wanted to do was dance.


End file.
